Liquid Sunshine
by ForeverWithoutYou
Summary: Koyama Teruko was absolutely certain that tennis was the ultimate evil of mankind, and nothing could change her mind. But no one can always be right, even when badminton was her one and only focus. Or when tennis was his only focus.  TezukaxOC


**Author's Note: ** I should really stop creating new stories…and yeah…So any kind of constructive criticism as always, and enjoy!~

**Disclaimer: **What would make you think that I actually own Prince of Tennis? -.-

Liquid Sunshine

Prologue: Questioning Opinions

"Remind me why we hate them again," Hitori Maika started with her usual curiosity. I rolled my eyes and frowned to the backs of blue and white jerseys. We seemed to have this discussion everyday after every single practice.

"Well actually, I don't really hate them. So remind me again why _you_ hate them," she finished questioning in my direction.

"C'mon Mai-chan. We went over this so many times already," I sighed at her stubbornness. There was no way I would ever lessen the strong dislike that I aimed at _them. _Strong dislike, hate, same thing.

"Yeah, but it makes no sense," she pouted with her fingers resting on her chin.

"Because tennis is stupid…?" Wait, I already used that argument. "And because we deserve more credit. People are always like 'tennis is so cool!' and 'I'm so talented 'cause I can hit a spinning yellow sphere!' It makes me sick. I mean, badminton is just as amazing, well not that tennis is amazing in any way, shape or form." Remember to breathe. "But badminton is so much more about strategy. It's less sexist and shows more character. I honestly don't care if you can make a hole in the earth using some unknown form of strength with a tennis ball. But if you can make a dent in the hardwood gym floor with a badminton birdie, feel free to give me a call." Wow, that could've been the longest rant I've ever given.

"But Teru, be reasonable. I know what you're trying to say, but athletes are athletes. You should respect them for who they are." She was smirking again with her index pointing in disciplinary form.

"Really Maika? Are you kidding me?" I hate lectures. "What's the point of even having this conversation if you won't ever agree with me?"

"Haha, well you can't blame me for _trying_ to change your opinion!" She laughed and sprinted ahead of the slow walking tennis regulars trudging in front of us. "I'll race you to class!"

I hesitated, taking in the words, then chased after her. "That's not fair! You got a head start!" and ran past the male tennis regulars as well. I swear, tennis players walk so slowly. It's like they're begging for attention, saying 'I'm walking at an overly leisurely pace just so you can admire special little me.' Yeah, because the huge outdoor courts don't speak for themselves.

"Koyama Terukoooo! I won that race, try again next time," and Maika took a bow, flaunting my defeat.

"Pfftt, you totally cheated!" She flicked her hand in my direction defending her success.

"With that endurance, you wouldn't be able to return half of my shots," she twirled her hair with her finger and shrugged, "and it's not my fault you can't keep up."

"And to think you're nationally ranked with that immaturity," I patted her on the back jokingly.

"But you played along," her face fell.

"I was kidding! Gosh. See you at lunch!" We parted and headed to our respected classrooms.

* * *

I hate school. I don't know, it's just as soon as you walk through the double doors and see the pale white walls, you're asking for your freedom to be taken away. It's like you're asking to be _judged_ based on your intelligence, rather than on your personality.

I mean, school _can _be a good thing, I guess. But the way I see it, if you already know what you're gonna do with your life, you don't need education. And I knew that the only thing I wanted to do was play badminton. So why bother confining me to these brown colored spaces?

I plopped down in my seat with my limp backpack hanging half over the corner and played with the end of my skirt, refolding the creases.

"Good morning class," called the teacher's voice from the doorway. I looked up. Honestly, I didn't notice that the classroom was already full of students that suddenly silenced themselves.

There were a few weak 'good mornings' that sounded from every direction, but the teacher took that as a sign to start the class like he did everyday.

"Please," the teacher started up again, "get your homework out and exchange it with the person next to you for grading."

I could hear the rustling of backpacks and unorganized papers. I didn't move, keeping my fingers busy with the hem of my skirt. Homework, homework, math homework? What was I doing yesterday that made me so busy as to forget that we had homework?

That answer was easy.

Badminton.

But even if I didn't have badminton practice, I probably still wouldn't have finished the math homework.

The way I see it, math is only good when used in the simplest forms. Such as, when it can help me figure out how many points I need to catch up or how many points until the end of the game.

I did not need to figure out how to 'find x' because x is a letter. And math is numbers. Not letters.

I looked up, with the answers appearing across the board in white chalk. And I would have paid attention, except something distracted me- someone distracted me. It was that tennis captain with the golden rod hair that stuck out in every possible angle.

And that distracted me because I then remembered how much I don't like tennis. And now that I had anger bubbling through my veins, it was impossible to even _try _to learn the meaning of 'factored' or 'expanded form.'

I didn't even know why people liked tennis. You run faster in badminton. A birdie can travel so much faster than a stinking tennis ball, and badminton players are much fairer in play.

Life is full of injustices.

The teacher then passed out packets of papers that were "homework if not finished in class."

The pages slid onto my desk, and Imamoto-sensei had the _nerve _to whisper, "see me after class," into my right ear. But I flipped through the packet as he walked to the next desk, refusing to acknowledge his request.

And now it was infinitely impossible for me to concentrate, with the pile of yellow-brown hair that stuck up in front of me that reminded me of tennis, as well as the idea that I could possibly be in trouble for something that I didn't even do.

Brriiinngg. Brrriinnnggg.

The bell rang, and I packed my perfectly unmarked math packet into my backpack. I headed to Imamoto's desk while the other students headed out the classroom for their well-earned break.

"You wanted to see me, sensei?" I questioned the man sitting behind the desk, absorbed in the textbook open on the desk.

He looked up from reading. "Yes, I did," he noticed that I stood as far as I could, but still allowing an appropriate talking distance. "It's your grade, Koyama-san. I know you're smart," his voice lowered in volume, "but if you're not motivated to try your hardest, I can and will find someone who would be more than happy to convince you to give it your all."

I nodded, and turned around to return to my seat, frustration sprawled across my face.

I did not need school to be smart. And I didn't even understand why people wanted others to succeed. Wasn't life supposed to be taken on individually?

And why should I be punished for being passionate?

I mean, isn't passion the whole point of living?

But I just sighed and sat down forcefully in my chair. Did sensei just threaten me? I rested my head on my hand. I doubt that _anyone_ would be able to find _someone_ who would be stubborn enough to convince to put my saved energy for _my _favorite sport into something that held me back from becoming the number one ranked national badminton player.

* * *

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